


Blue Friday

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, cockslut Morgs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets a five-for and assumes this makes Eoin owe him something</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Friday

“I got a five-for.”

Eoin doesn’t blink; he doesn’t look up at the young fast bowler. The dressing room is empty as the game finished a long time ago and many players had already gone home or had found a pub or club to go to with the opposition. Eoin’s only stayed because of his captaincy duties. That’s what he constantly reminded himself as he wandered around waiting.

The moment Harry had taken that fifth wicket – a beautiful ball that just kissed the edge of the bat before settling snugly into John’s gloves – Eoin knew what was coming. The way those dark brown eyes had narrowed at him over John’s shoulders as he squeezed the man so fervently had been something that at the time, Eoin simply ignored. Then, as Harry swaggered up to receive his Man of the Match prizes, it had twisted to an odd and guilty anticipation. He’s got too much dignity to let it show, though.

“Yes, you did,” he replies and continues to unlace his trainers like he hasn’t done it at least three times, waiting for this.

“I got a five-for,” Harry repeats in the same tone. He steps into Eoin’s line of sight – well, at least his feet.

Slowly, the redhead raises his eyes to meet the ever-smirking face.  He still looks so much like a teenager it’s wrong. It’s thrilling. “And?”

“I want a blowjob.”

Scoffing, Eoin reclines back in his seat. Audacious really isn’t the word for this kid. He doesn’t really know what is. One day he’ll figure it out. One day he’ll figure out how everything so _wrong_ in a person could hide behind such a face and be so irresistible. But he _is_ resistible, Eoin tells himself flatly. He and only he dictates what happens and when between them.

Harry stands, barely waiting for his reply, with an unchanging demeanour. No shame. No hesitance. No apprehension. Just a confidence that Eoin simply will not refuse, not because he enjoys the act of giving oral, but because he’s Harry Podmore and therefore God’s Gift to Middlesex. If not the World. Harry does adjust his stance, placing his hands on his hips and somehow subtly pulls his trousers to show he’s getting hard underneath them.

Definitely thinks he’s God’s Gift to the World.

“And why would I do that?” Eoin says coolly, steadfastly refusing to look at that navy bulge. The kid’s got a pretty cock: nice shape and length—no—he is not going to think about it.

“I won you the game, Skip.”

“My 54 had nothing to do with it?”

“Batsmen save games. Bowlers win them, that’s what they say,” Harry shrugs his shoulders. He’s full of more shit than KP, Eoin swears at times. He can’t help but laugh and glances down at the brunette’s groin as he thinks.

It’s been a while since he’s had a cock in his mouth. He’s missed it. And he does love how easily he can make the kid fall apart… and perversely missed those fingers in his hair, desperately clutching and trying to dictate a pace as his hips attempt dominance. It’s adorable and thoroughly enjoyable.

“Physio room,” he says bluntly, jerking his head in direction to the door in the corner. The dressing room might be empty, but he doesn’t know for how long. Harry doesn’t look happy with his decision, like he had been entertaining thoughts of doing it here, so close to the balcony… or maybe even wanted it on the balcony itself. Eoin doesn’t blame him… it’s a fantasy of pretty much everyone’s, surely? “Physio room or you can sit here and fuck yourself, by yourself.”

With a sneer, Harry turns on his heel and struts across the room. Not once does he glance back to see if his captain follows. He’s visibly untying his trousers as he walks and kicks the door open. Eoin can only watch with one eye-brow raised as Harry turns, walking blindly backwards towards the table, and makes a show of pulling his trousers down, biting his lip like he’s the sexiest thing Eoin’s ever seen. It’s laughable but shamefully works. The moment he gets the first glimpse of that glossy head, he’s already halfway across the room to join the bowler.

Only because he wants to. Because he’d do it for anyone else as well.

But then Harry has to go and ruin it the moment he’s leaning against the sturdy table they spend half their life on getting poked and prodded. He quickly sheaths himself in a pink-tinted condom before holding his cock firm and steady at the angle Eoin usually takes it and looks the Irishman straight in the eye, “Come and get it.”

Scrunching his face in disgust, Eoin has to try not to laugh. It comes out as something of a groaning scoff. “You are so unattractive when you open your mouth.”

“Can’t say the same for you,” the bowling replies, not missing a beat. Not even a muscle twitches, such is his assurance that he won’t be turned down.

Eoin knows indulging this kid is the worst thing to do. The only way he’s ever really going to teach any form of lesson is to stop. To turn around and leave would break those supercilious stilts that hold his confidence so high and bring him down to humility. But _fuck_ , it’s such a pretty cock.

He pushes the door shut and locks it for safe measure. This is not something he’d regularly do: reckless and bordering on suicidal if someone _were_ to catch them… but that’s probably the very thing Harry enjoys about it. He could have just taken Eoin back to his flat like usual. The Irishman can’t deny it doesn’t tingle arousal in his gut either. Sex and work are two things he guiltily mixes enough anyway – he semi-regularly sleeps with his teammates.

When he lowers himself to his knees between Harry’s legs, he keeps full, unblinking eye contact. It’s a primal assertion of dominance but they’re hardly a pair who fuck with civility. The brunette quirks a lip and Eoin parts his.

The only tentativeness in the first lick is over that tackily-coloured condom. He’s not surprised to taste chemically synthetic almost-strawberry and absently wonders if it’s a flavour Harry’s girlfriend doesn’t like, so he thinks he can fob them off on him. Eoin’s not particularly fond, but it’s better than nothing. At least the kid is mature enough to even supply his own.

It’s better than nothing, he repeats and licks with the flat of his tongue from base to tip, including the bowler’s slim fingers that remain grasping his shaft. Eoin does it again and doesn’t miss how Harry’s pumping his own length. If he thinks he’s just going to get something wet to thrust into at his own volition, he can go find his damn girlfriend.

One thing Eoin is not is someone’s toy. He’s not an easy lay; not an animated doll. He is not something to be taken for granted and will not be ignored. With a grunted reprimand, Eoin grabs both of Harry’s slender wrists and all but slams them back against the edge of the table.

“Don’t break them,” Harry chuckles breathily, “we’ll never win the tournament then.”

Eoin looks up at him. The intensity of his glower only exaggerated by the strength of his browbone and the harshness of the lights above them. Anything he could say would just be replied to with some ‘smart’ comment and they’ll never get anywhere. Eoin’s a man of measured words anyway and firmly believes in the potency of actions.

He keeps his eyes sharply trained on Harry’s face as he opens his mouth around the head of the kid’s cock. As that awful not-fruit flavour tingles on his tongue, Harry rolls his head back on his shoulders and moans like he’s anywhere but hidden away at the Home of Cricket. Though his hands remained fastened to the table by Eoin’s strong fingers, he tugs at them. He’s the type that wants to sink in as deep as he can, as fast as he can, and no doubt comes too quickly because of it. Eoin’s still trying to teach him the merits of _slow and steady_ but with teenage hormones still ravaging his body, it’s taking a while. The Irishman allows a few thrusts, almost anticipating the time to pull back so only another inch or two slips in at once.

It’s an odd rhythm initially he has to consciously keep up, taking the fun out of the act. But as Harry starts to settle and get re-accustomed to the heat and slickness and pressure around his nerves, he slows and sags back. He’s no doubt aiming to play his nonchalant ‘you do all the work and I’ll have all the fun’ as if he still thinks that’s the most masculine thing a man can do. Eoin can’t help but smirk, rolling his eyes as he takes just a little more rigid flesh into his mouth.

One day the kid will learn. They might even still be fucking when he does. Eoin hopes they’re not.

Maybe he gets used to the flavoured condom or maybe the flavour has wasted away, or maybe Eoin just finds distraction from it in how Harry moans. Sometimes he wishes he doesn’t. The kid is nothing like his other partners who can do anything from try to hold a conversation to complimenting and encouraging him. Harry is in a league of his own. Eoin can’t explain it to himself, let alone anyone else if he were to tell anyone other than Dawid about their little _arrangement_ , but it feels that whenever anything that slips past Harry’s lips sounds like a compliment, it’s aimed towards himself. He’s never once moaned, groaned, hissed or chuckled Eoin’s name. He’s tried, but never been indulged.

All there is to listen to is the hissing of breath through his own nose, and the breathless pants of ‘ _oh yeah_ ’ and various curses above his head. It’s not exactly boring because it is fun to try and guess what ghastly thing will come out next. Sometimes Eoin is correct and he chuckles – the vibrations of which travel right through the cock in his mouth and Harry fists the table, gasping out loudly. Sometimes Eoin isn’t and he can only roll his eyes and wonder where the hell Harry finds the lewdest, most vulgar and hilarious porn.

Why he even keeps on with the bowler is a question Eoin often asks himself in moments like these. Every time they’re done, he tells himself that was the last time. He’ll go and fuck some guys his own age. Good, wild, mutually satisfactory, guilt-free sex. Exactly what Eoin loves. Then Harry will saunter back into the dressing room, squeeze his arse like he thinks it’s his property and whisper in Eoin’s ear ‘ _I bought some new lube last night_ ’. And he falls for it every-damn-time.

Unsurprisingly, the moment he lets go of the bowler’s wrists, they fly towards him and long fingers tie maybe-a-little too tight into his hair. Eoin can only smirk. He’s always loved that slight twinge of pain, though he much prefers it being an intentional act. He’ll never trust Harry to know that though. He’s much too impulsive, demanding, shallow… just… not the sort Eoin can ever see himself having a _regular_ thing with.

“C’mon, _more_ ,” the brunette all but whines. He tries to push Eoin down on his cock but letting go of those wrists means Eoin can hold his hips and steadfastly keep both himself and the boy exactly where he wants them. “More. I need _more_.”

Eoin is not indulging him or giving into those demands. He’s _never_ given into Harry’s demands. Doesn’t stop him from teasing though. The ‘more’ he gives are frequent shallow bobs that by nature, are shallow because they’re so frequent. It’s never more than a few inches – the very opposite of what the redhead knows Harry wants, but what he’s never going to get. He hums: short, low-pitched bursts of vibration… not long and high, sending a rhythm like a buzz straight to the pleasured core of the kid. And all so he can see desperation cross that youthful face.

Eyebrows furrowed deeply, mouth open in breathy moans of nothing in particular, Harry is nothing like the Harry Podmore he is. When Eoin sees this he’s reminded that asides from the enjoyment of their one-sided competition (that he always wins and will always win), this is the reason he keeps on finding himself spreading his legs for a teammate almost a decade younger than him. He’s beautiful. Eoin is just like any other man: he loves beautiful things.

And most of all, on the brink of orgasm, Harry is _silent_. Wordless gasps and pants and near-pathetic moans are like music Eoin can never get sick of. Sometimes Harry chokes on the pleasure and his frustration – his _need_ – and that’s when Eoin gives him that little bit _more_.

One hand wraps around the rest of the shaft that his mouth has neglected. Eoin works it in perfect tandem as he sucks and licks the sensitive head of Harry’s cock. It would be better for them both without the condom but Eoin’s not stupid or reckless. He doesn’t let the thought impede him, and it makes no difference as he tickles the very tip of his tongue against the bundle of nerves on the underside and _love_ how Harry thrusts towards him with a canine howl for attention.

He gives it. Only because he wants to. Because to deny a man on the edge is cruel. Eoin knows – he’s been that man far too many times. So he curls his lips back around the full head of cock, sucking hungrily.

He watches Harry’s face as he climaxes. From the bitten bottom lip that hisses the birth of a fricative, to how it smoothes and contorts at the same time to amazing effect. Eoin allows the convulsions to drive Harry’s cock further into his mouth because he knows it feels much, much better for the kid (and he’d be lying if he says it’s not one reasons he loves performing oral sex). Harry’s hands slip from his hair and slam back into the table; grasping it as leverage to pump his hips. And maybe for support as his thighs feel like they’re unreliable and shaking.

It’s anticlimactic for the Irishman, what with the condom and all. But Harry seems more than satisfied. He sags back against the physio table, gripping the edges so tightly that his knuckles are beginning to fade. Eoin counts three long, deep breaths before Harry mutters, “You really do love sucking dick.”

The Irishman doesn’t remark because it’s true. But he does roll his eyes and lift himself back to his feet. And this is where any other guy would slide their arms around his waist and pull him in. Maybe slide one hand down the back of his trousers, or maybe slide one down the front to return the favour. Eoin just watches as Harry reaches into his back pocket. He’s not eager to see another condom packet or some form of lubricant. _He’s not_. What he does see is Harry bringing out his phone.

He’s not disappointed.

_He’s not_.

“Oh,” Harry says simply and with a face that screams the words ‘ _oh shit’_.

Eoin watches as brown eyes scan the screen – it must be a text – and he knows what’s coming.

“I’ve gotta bolt! The missus is waiting!”

 It’s happened before. He’s not disappointed. He’s insulted. Silently, he just watches as Harry quickly pulls his pants and trousers back on and dashes out of the physio room leaving nothing but a horrid taste in Eoin’s mouth. This will be the last time. He’ll make sure of it. Eoin Morgan does not put a cock in his mouth for nothing in return.

 


End file.
